


Recollections

by everywintersbreath



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Character Study, Child Neglect, Childhood Friends, Friends to Lovers, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, M/M, Poverty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-03
Updated: 2018-11-03
Packaged: 2019-08-17 05:04:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16509869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/everywintersbreath/pseuds/everywintersbreath
Summary: Junhui reminds him of a storybook character, of one of those princesses trapped within a tower, unable to escape.Somewhere in the back of his mind, Wonwoo likes to indulge the delusion that he could be Junhui’s prince.





	Recollections

**Author's Note:**

> read tags for possible triggers pls !  
> p.s. the referenced underage sex is consensual and between two sixteen year olds  
> hope u enjoy

When Jeon Wonwoo is five, someone moves into the creepy old house next door.

There’s a boy, probably his age or a little older, skin marred by dirt, sunken eyes meeting Wonwoo’s with something akin to shame for half a second before he looks away, tugged towards the entrance of the house by a ragged man.

Wonwoo, being five, thinks nothing of it. He grips the side of the plastic grocery bag his mother is holding, filled with their cheap rations for the week, looking up at her. “Look, Wonwoo,” she says tiredly, giving him a little smile. “Maybe you two can be friends.”

Wonwoo doesn’t know about that. He’s never had a friend before, not that he needs one. His mother is enough, with her warm hands and trembling hugs, with her wary glances towards the door that Wonwoo doesn’t understand yet, with her oatmeal cookies that are bland but still the highlight of Wonwoo’s week. 

He sees her take some to the house next door, sees her stand on the doorstep with her plate of cookies balanced on her nervous fingers, shifting from foot to foot. 

The door never opens.

Wonwoo slips away from the window, back sinking down against the wall. How rude, he thinks. If they won’t even take his mother’s cookies, how nice of a family can the neighbors be?

-

When Jeon Wonwoo is six, he starts going to school. 

The burlap sack that carries his meager supply of things feels heavy in his hand, even heavier when he sees the boy again, standing quietly against the wall of the classroom, his head hanging low. 

There’s something wrong with his face, Wonwoo thinks. His lip shouldn’t stick out like that. The area around his left eye shouldn’t be so dark. The schoolteacher, a short and plump woman with uncertain gestures doesn’t seem to think the same, going to his side and mumbling a few soft words which the boy doesn’t seem to understand most of. 

“Jeon Wonwoo,” she calls, making Wonwoo’s eyes open wider. “This is Junhui. Would you mind sitting next to him today?”

Wonwoo very much does mind, but he shakes his head, not wanting to cause an issue. He remembers what his mother had told him, soft lectures on being kind even when Wonwoo feels so angry he could hit something, gentle maxims and threaded stories of tolerance. 

The teacher pushes the boy in his direction, mumbling something else. The boy stumbles a bit, coming over to the table that Wonwoo stands next to and peering at him. Wonwoo can’t help but think that he looks like one of the little ducklings in the storybook his mother pulls out in the evenings. “Hi,” Wonwoo says, plopping down into his seat and dropping his bag onto the ground.

“H-Hello,” the boy, Junhui, replies. Wonwoo notices that his pronunciation is a bit shaky, that his cheeks dust over with red, embarrassment coloring his expressions. “Your Korean is good,” Wonwoo replies, despite having heard only two syllables from the boy’s lips. It appears to have been the right decision since the boy’s lips curve up into a nervous smile, his bright teeth showing. “Thank you. You are very… nice.”

Wonwoo doesn’t comment on the pauses between every word of his sentence, instead looking down at the little animals scratched into the wood of his desk. “You are Wonwoo, yes?”  
Junhui asks, carefully sitting down. Wonwoo glances over at him again, nodding. Junhui looks much better now that he’s not so tense, almond eyes shining. “I’m Junhui. From China.”

“Cool,” Wonwoo says, leaning back. “You live right next to me.”

“Yes,” Junhui replies, fiddling with his hands. “I see you sometimes.” 

Wonwoo peers at him, trying to understand why he hasn’t had any interaction with the boy since the day he moved in if that’s the case. “You should come over,” Wonwoo comments, noticing the way the boy seems to stiffen again. Before he can ask anything more, the class starts and the teacher asks them not to talk.

They play some games, most of them having to do with the other people in the class, none of which are at all interesting to Wonwoo. There’s a group of girls who seem to already be close friends that laugh at Junhui when it’s his turn for introduction, giggling to each other behind their hands. Wonwoo scowls at them as fiercely as he can, getting at least two of them to freeze up.

He sits with Junhui during lunch, the two of them huddled against the peeling wall on one side of the kindergarten. The schoolteacher is chattering away with some of the taller boys, leaving them to their own devices. Junhui stares at Wonwoo when he pulls out the food his mother had packed, quickly looking away when Wonwoo meets his eyes. 

“No lunch?” Wonwoo asks. Junhui squints, not seeming to understand the question. “Do you have food?” Wonwoo clarifies. Junhui shrugs, giving Wonwoo another uncertain gummy smile. Wonwoo thinks that maybe Junhui’s smile always looks a bit nervous. “Forgot,” Junhui replies, eyes dancing around the room. 

Without hesitating, Wonwoo rips his cookie and takes one of the neatly cut sandwich halves, pressing them into Junhui’s lap. Junhui’s eyes widen, looking from the food back to Wonwoo, and then back again. “Thank you,” he says, voice trembling.

Wonwoo just nods, watching Junhui from the corner of his eye when he takes a small bite of the cookie. The look of bliss on his face is enough for Wonwoo to know. In his simple, six-year-old mind, Junhui liking his mother’s cookie is enough. Junhui, he decides, will be his best friend. Wonwoo will make sure that Junhui doesn’t hear the other kids laughing at him. 

Over the next few days, Wonwoo sneaks extra food in his lunchbox, giving it to Junhui, who “forgets” his lunch every day. When Wonwoo’s mother finds out, she packs even more food into his lunches, not caring that their stock is already limited, full of compassion for the all-too-thin boy next door.

Wonwoo never sees Junhui outside of school, as much as he’d like to. Junhui only leaves school after everyone else has gone, and even then he goes straight home, dissapearing behind the thick door of that rickety old house. Wonwoo sees his mother go over to that house often, knocking on the door and never getting a reply. Even Wonwoo tries to ring the doorbell once, but as he expects, nothing happens.

-

When Jeon Wonwoo turns seven, his mother lets him move into the upstairs bedroom that had previously been empty. 

It’s dusty, smells a bit funny, and the roof creaks a lot, but none of that matters when his window directly faces Junhui’s. 

Wonwoo, who’s grown into a more mellow child as he’s aged, writes the older boy friendly signs in messy hangul, smiling fondly when the other holds up a sign back with all the characters correct. Their conversations are simple, often about silly things or questions that Junhui has about Korean.

They don’t talk about movies or toys, since neither of their families can afford such things, but sometimes Junhui asks Wonwoo to tell him a story, which he does, painstakingly writing out each word or phrase and holding it up long enough for Junhui to understand as the story unfolds. The expressions on Junhui’s face are worth it, as well as the little actions that he unconciously does to mimic the characters. 

Sometimes, Junhui dances. It’s clumsy, but still graceful because it’s Junhui. Wonwoo always watches with a smile, head resting on his small hands. The boys in their grade are always talking about how pretty the girls are, how nice the girl’s hands feel in theirs, but Wonwoo thinks they all pale in comparison to Junhui.

More often than not, Junhui will disappear without an explanation. It’s as if he hears something, and then quickly draws the curtains shut, his expression panicked. Wonwoo suspects it has something to do with his father.

He asks Junhui, but the other never gives him a straight answer, fingers sweaty and warm on Wonwoo’s palm, his thin face turned away. 

Frustrated, Wonwoo likes to wait at the window, watching the grasses between their homes rustle in the wind. It’s rare that Junhui will actually come to the window, so he’s surprised when the curtains open.

A grim-faced man stares at him, looking extremely sick. For several seconds, they maintain eye contact, until the man mimes spitting at Wonwoo and yanks the curtains shut. Wonwoo scowls. If that’s how Junhui’s father acts, Wonwoo gets why he doesn’t want to talk about him. 

He tells Junhui about it the next day at school, receiving a startled look of panic from the other. 

Junhui doesn’t come to the window for a week.

-

When Jeon Wonwoo is ten, he starts walking Junhui home every day, glaring down the boy’s crumbling house as if it’ll hurt the man that he knows lives inside. 

Junhui doesn’t comment on the habit, instead cheerfully speaking to Wonwoo as always, hesitantly letting go of his hand when he’s forced to make the journey up his driveway. “Bye, Wonwoo,” he’ll say. “See you tomorrow. Make sure to get some sleep.”

Wonwoo always nods, watching Junhui until he disappears within the door, the bruises poking out from under the sleeves of his shirt barely visible under the cream with which Junhui covers them in an attempt to hide them. 

Wonwoo hates it. He feels powerless, a weedy child possessing strength only in the intellectual category. There’s nothing he can do for Junhui so long as the other refuses to leave his home, nothing that Wonwoo’s mother can do, and nothing that the local authorities will do. After all, they care not for this part of town. Wonwoo may be young, but he’s not stupid. He might be able to protect Junhui at school, but he can’t do anything for the other at home. 

It’s this realization that drives him to ask the question of Junhui one day, sitting on the swings together outside the school. “Why don’t you just come live with us?”

Junhui looks up through his eyelashes, startled. “I can’t do that, Wonwoo. My father needs my help. Plus, I couldn’t put that kind of burden on you guys.”

 

Wonwoo sighs, kicking at the woodchips beneath his feet. That’s the thing about Junhui. He’s too selfless. Junhui’s never the kind to raise his voice unless it’s for the sake of someone else, the kind to never push or shove unless it’s to help someone in need, the type to throw himself onto burning coals just to rescue a person in mild discomfort. Wonwoo can’t understand it, but he supposes it is a good trait in general. Just not right now.

Junhui reminds him of a storybook character, of a young princess trapped in her tower, unable to escape because to do so would inconvenience another. 

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Wonwoo likes to carry the delusion that he could be Junhui’s prince.

-

When Jeon Wonwoo is fourteen, he starts high school.

Unlike middle school, where the two of them had been allowed to keep to themselves, huddling together in the hallways and sitting side by side in class, high school seems to be trying its best to tear them apart. 

Wonwoo only has four classes and a lunch with Junhui, but they still stay best friends. Wonwoo waits for Junhui outside his classes and walks him to the next ones, makes sure no one is picking on the slightly older boy.

Junhui joins the dance club and Wonwoo does too, not out of any passion for dance but to have more in common with Junhui. 

By sophomore year, Wonwoo has stopped feeling like he’s going to die of embarrassment every time he moves his limbs to music. He’s nowhere near as good as Junhui, Soonyoung, Minghao, or Chan, but he’s alright. It’s fun, he realizes, especially when he sees just how happy Junhui is doing it.

Dance club only meets three days a week, but Junhui tells his dad that it meets every day, another excuse to avoid going home. Wonwoo takes him around town on Tuesdays and Thursdays, peering in the windows of the fancier stores on the other side of the city and skipping down the flowered streets. 

One day, they stop in a little park, Wonwoo spending some of his tiny wage from his newspaper delivery job on bread to feed the ducks in the pond, letting Junhui toss some in, the other boy’s laughter fading as it gets closer to sunset.

A duckling wanders close to them, too far from its mother who squawks indignantly. The duckling hurries back over to its parent, disappearing into the reeds, and it’s then that Junhui lays his head against Wonwoo’s shoulder. His hair is soft, tickling Wonwoo’s neck as he sighs faintly.

“I don’t want to go home,” he mumbles quietly, the words for Wonwoo’s ears alone. Caring not for the pile of homework he knows rests within the bag on his shoulder, Wonwoo wraps an arm around him, leaning his head on Junhui’s in return.

“Then don’t,” Wonwoo whispers, lips barely ghosting their way against Junhui’s scalp.

-

When Jeon Wonwoo is sixteen, he has sex for the first time.

It’s messy and weird, and it’s maybe a bit awkward, but the feeling of Junhui’s body against his, perfect and warm, is enough to help Wonwoo forget that. 

The two of them lay together under the stars, bodies close on the picnic blanket that Wonwoo’s brought, looking up at the night sky. There’s a plane that flies by, which Junhui points to with a tired giggle, pressing his head closer into Wonwoo’s chest. “Our own shooting star,” he jokes.

“Make a wish,” Wonwoo replies, nudging him as the plane’s light blinks green and red. 

Junhui’s quiet for a moment, the movements of his breaths noticeable against Wonwoo’s side. “What’d you wish for?” Wonwoo asks. Junhui snorts, lightly reaching up to push at his face. Wonwoo catches his wrist, smiling at him. “If I tell you, it won’t come true.”

“Alright,” Wonwoo murmurs. “I wished that you’d kiss me again.”

Junhui glares at him playfully, obliging anyway. Wonwoo grins when their lips part, dark eyes tracing Junhui’s own pretty ones. “My wish still came true.”

“Jerk,” Junhui murmurs, smiling. “I’ll tell you someday, so stop being annoying.”

“Mm,” Wonwoo replies, looking back up at the constellations. Someday.

-

When Jeon Wonwoo turns eighteen, he takes Junhui to another city, far away from everyone who had hurt him.

He gets a job as a librarian, bringing his favorite books back home to read together with his favorite person, cuddled up on the couch of their small apartment. 

Junhui never hears from his father again, but their friends write often, as does Wonwoo’s mother. Junhui’s no longer the fragile little boy covered in scratches that had grasped Wonwoo’s hand, but he’s still Junhui. He’ll always be Junhui, and Junhui and Wonwoo will always be together. 

-

When Jeon Wonwoo is twenty-one, Junhui tells him what he had wished for. 

His mouth is close to Wonwoo’s ear, the smell of hairspray strong as Wonwoo surveys the dancing crowd. “I wished that I could marry you,” Junhui whispers, receiving an amused look from Wonwoo, who’s still fiddling with the ring on his finger.

“What a lame wish,” Wonwoo replies, earning a tiny slap from Junhui, who’s beaming. “As if yours was any better.”

“You two ready for us to cut the cake?” One of the employees asks, standing nearby with their hands neatly folded. Wonwoo squeezes Junhui’s palm, looking at him. Junhui nods, and the two of them walk together.

Just like old times.

**Author's Note:**

> hi i'd love it if you let me know what u think!
> 
> thank u for reading
> 
> p.s. if anyone reading this is waiting on my chaptered fics i am SO SORRY :') i've been really busy and my updates are so sporadic so thank u for having patience with me


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